by Olivia Logan
What had she said this time? The hairs on the back of her neck bristled slightly at the odd appraisal in his eyes.
“Glad you like it. You look different.” The navy eyes moved down the length of her before moving back up to her eyes, and she fought the desire to fan her suddenly heated face.
“You too. The cord slash V-neck look works well on you.” Too well. She had to ignore the uncharacteristic urge to lean across and run her hands over the obvious muscles under the wool.
“Two compliments in the space of a few minutes, CJ? Careful—I may start getting a big head.”
“Start?” A smile began to pull at her lips at the natural banter. Natural. OK, that killed the smile almost instantly. That was exactly how this felt. Natural. Too natural for her.
“Your hair.”
“What about my hair?” She hadn’t expected him to notice and quickly burst the bubble of pleasure that rose up at his words.
“It’s no longer all the colors of the rainbow. It’s ... it’s ... what is it, exactly?”
“It is cranberry, blackberry, poison berry,” she began, ticking off her hair’s new darker hues on her fingers, “and lastly, blueberry.”
“I see. So you have a berry medley on your hair?”
“Basically. But who doesn’t like berries?”
“Me. I have allergies.”
“To all berries?”
“Pretty much, but mainly strawberries.”
“I’ll have to remember that. So strawberry scones, out. Daiquiris, out. Jam tarts, out—”
“All strawberry-related products.”
Nodding at something or someone behind her, he clicked his belt into place and CJ felt the jolt of the plane under her. Reaching for her own buckle, she watched the moving tarmac outside as the plane rose into the clouds.
The tap tap of plastic on plastic pulled her attention back into the plane, and she caught the edge of a red banner on his tablet, advertising her favorite financial reading.
“How’s the deal? Rakena Investments is giving you a run for your money by the sound of things.”
She could count the seconds it took between his fingers pausing on the tablet to his eyes finding hers. His navy blues were filled with ill-concealed surprise and, if she didn’t know better, suspicion.
“What do you know about Rakena Investments or a deal?”
“Despite what you may think of me, I can read and access the Internet, and though I stop short of looking up people’s private lives, the business firing up the financial world is fair game.”
“So you know I have a deal pending with Nasser Hotels and Rakena Investments is in the way.” He stopped, as if waiting for her to go on.
“Yes, and personally I think Nasser is better off selling his hotel chain in the East to you. It makes sense. Harper Hotels dominates the hotel business in the West and Nasser Hotels in the East.” Damn! She didn’t think it was possible, but she may have just stunned him into silence. “And this man,” she continued, “your opponent, is in all the charity pages as an International do-gooder, and you ...” She paused, nibbling on her bottom lip.
“While I ... please carry on. Isn’t that what you pride yourself on—the truth, straight up, CJ style?” His voice was hard, despite the cool smile. He pushed the tablet to one side and leaned back against the chair, linking his hands behind his head, his arm muscles flexing at the woollen seams. Thankfully, he was too preoccupied by the danger of corporate espionage on her part to notice the sudden loud pounding of her heart.
“Fine! If you insist. You come across as less do-goodery.” Her last words flooded out in a rush.
“Less do-goodery? First, I’m not sure that is even a word, and second, how do I come across as less? I am on charity committees.”
“Yes, of more commercial interests. Not people-focused interests.”
“You mean playing the public vote?” he asked, frowning.
“That sounds a bit Machiavellian, but if Nasser, as the head honcho of the deal, is a people person, which from reports he sounds like he is, then yes. Not to mention that your opponent sits on many charities and that, coupled with his recent nuptials, makes him a strong opponent.”
“I have the stronger offer, and his marriage has taken place very recently to the point some people are questioning if it’s even legit. So what are you suggesting? We get married?”
A feral smile pulled at his full lips; the dimples that made an appearance were not helping the crazed pounding of her heart.
“Oh god, no! That would be insane. Certifiably so.”
“You think I should get married?”
“Mmmm, it may look a bit suspicious if you both suddenly get married.”
“So what’s your point, CJ?”
“I, um, guess I didn’t really have a specific point. In fact, I asked you how it was going, so I really was asking a question, not making a point.”
“You control it, so you tell me,” he said, his voice cold and steady.
“What are you talking about?” This conversation is getting weirder and weirder.
“The tweets, CJ, the tweets. It’s not just your listeners following the tweets.”
Realization dawned slowly. She hadn’t really thought about how the tweets affected the deal. To be fair, she hadn’t even known about the deal till recently. She just thought he concocted the wager for vanity—his and his business’s.
People loved passionate interactions, according to her producer. The callers and station followers on Twitter had soared after the first date tweet and had risen even higher after the a cappella group. She could pretend to be beyond excited about the next date; after all she really did love skiing. It was the dates after that petrified her. And not just the dates. It was her own reaction every time she caught him looking at her, the thoughts that flew through her mind at the memory of his thumb against her cheek. Even just thinking about it now made her scalp tingle and her imagination fly into overdrive.
“Simple solution. Plan more interesting dates.” Her voice was soft yet firm, and she leaned back against the soft coverings, moving her hand from the armrest when a fizzing champagne flute appeared suddenly. She wasn’t going to let him intimidate her. She had her integrity, and she had worked hard to build up her show based on her straight up, truthful attitude.
If anyone heard that she was selling out to help a man who couldn’t be bothered to sit on more people-focused charity committees than her show, her reputation was pointless as far as she was concerned.
“And if you don’t know what interesting dates are, then you should have called my show earlier.” Pasting a polite smile on her face, she reached for the glass; her nose wrinkled as the bubbles hit her lips.
“It’s not the date venues that are a problem,” he replied, narrowing his eyes, his voice dangerously soft as he reached for his own glass.
“Would you care to discuss the real problem then? By the way, just so you’re aware, this drink is date two.”
“Yes, I am fully aware of your terms, and no, I would not care to discuss it.”
“If you’re insinuating it’s me, then there is an easy solution to all of this. You could just tell me what is coming up.”
“I did. Skiing.”
“And ...” she began, rolling her hand in a circular motion for him to add something else.
“And that is all I’m going to tell you. Do you always know where you are going to go on dates?”
Good question, though she would probably ask if she ever had dates recently. “Not usually, no.”
“This unique wager we find ourselves in poses a challenge to me, and I have never failed at a challenge. I don’t intend to start now.”
“Is that meant to fill me with confidence? Fine. I trust you know what you are doing, but my tweets will remain faithful and true.”
“Fine by me. You may want to include pictures as well. I’m reliably informed that the—who are they, tweeps?—like seeing pictures of what people are actually talki
ng about.”
“People also like seeing pictures of cats, too.”
“Include those as well if you think they’ll help your ratings.”
“Ratings ... what er ...” CJ paused to clear the lump of denial from her throat. “What are you talking about?” She kept her voice as neutral as she could make it.
“You will find I do my homework, too, CJ.”
• • •
“I do my homework, too, CJ.” Grrr! She knew now in hindsight she should have responded with anything instead of sit there like a goldfish. Straightening her goggles against the glare of the mountain’s snow, she pushed her feet backward and forward, reminding her limbs of the challenge ahead. Who would have told him about her waning ratings anyway? The station bosses and Bill were unbelievably excited that Jack was now linked to the show, but even they wouldn’t talk.
“The beginners’ slopes are on the other side. I can arrange an instructor for you.”
How long had he been standing there? The cold air blew his scent from her, giving her space to breathe. Digging her skis further into the snow, she shook her hair, the dark-tipped ends a sharp contrast to the baby blue of the puffy ski suit.
“No thanks. I can manage. After all, this is hardly the Black Diamond run for advanced skiers.”
“No, but it is the middle-level ski course, which can still be equally tough if you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Who said I didn’t?” she asked, throwing a smile over her shoulder as she pushed herself forward. The icy wind cut through her and she twisted her hips instinctively as she moved. She may have forgotten minor details in the skiing process, but her body hadn’t.
The sharp whizz of black material to her right caught her eye, his dark blond hair like a beacon against the dark fabric. She hadn’t competed since she was ten, and even that had only been individually against the clock and a score sheet. This, though, wasn’t a competition. This was a blatant challenge. This was war.
Pushing herself faster, she slanted her body, the wind whipping over her more easily, a smile pulling at her face as she caught up with the darting figure. Hunching her shoulders, she bent her knees, flying easily over the small ice mound in front of her, giving her a hair’s breadth of a lead. She could see the posts at the end, her whole body focused on reaching that goal, ignoring the left and right, going only forward. She could feel him behind her, gaining on her like predator to prey, her heart pounding, beads of sweat tickling her hairline. Almost there ... Sliding to a stop at the large red posts, she quelled the urge to throw her sticks in the air, not bothering to hide the triumphant grin on her face as she turned to greet him, her smile widening at the smattering of applause from the other nearby skiers.
Pushing her goggles back onto her head, she bent down to unclip the skies, pulling them up beside her as he slowed to a stop in front of her.
“Something you forgot to tell me?”
Darn the man! Why didn’t he look as out of breath as she felt?
“Like?” She was careful to keep her voice as devoid of emotion as she could.
“That you can ski, perhaps.”
“Oh that. When you asked, I did tell you I had skied a little.”
“You call taking on a middle-to-hard run and going over a jump ‘a little’?”
“Little, big. It’s all a matter of perspective, isn’t it...” She stopped short at the sudden light in his eyes.
She could feel the flames of embarrassment spread up her neck to her cheeks; surely she was the brightest shade of crimson by now at the accidental double entendre.
“I meant, the um ...” There were those darn dimples again. She was beginning to learn that when it made an appearance, it usually wasn’t the best for her.
“The slope? Yes, that’s what I thought you meant.”
“I did, and now ...”
He frowned as he pulled a sleek phone from his pocket and slid it open, clicking at the keys before catching her look of disapproval and clicking it shut.
“Answering text messages on a date? A tad faux pas, don’t you think?” She was surprised any woman mistook his intentions if he texted while dating. In fact, she was surprised they were able to read into any intentions at all if his eyes were glued to the small screen.
“It wasn’t a text message. It was a work e-mail, and does the phrase ‘pot, kettle’ ring a bell?” His voice was as disapproving as she wanted her eyes to be.
“That was different. I was making notes. To be honest, how ... oh never mind.” CJ pulled her skis to her before turning toward the lifts.
“How what? Do you always leave a lot of your sentences unfinished? That’s not what I would have expected from you of all people.”
“Must be something about you that inspires me, or maybe I hate to be so predictable. Take your pick.” Maneuvering herself into the queue, she hopped onto one of the lifts, rolling her eyes and shuffling sideways as he jumped next to her.
“In that case, I’m flattered that I inspire you, but you never did finish your question,” he taunted softly, the charming smile back in play.
This close, she could see the small blond stubble across his chin and cheeks, the urge to lean across and brush her lips against the full lips waging war with her common sense. She couldn’t. She refused to. She had come a long way from that fifteen-year-old girl who had had a head full of romantic notions. Men like Jack Harper existed in a world she had chosen to leave for a reason. Not to mention he was work. Not personal, just business.
“I was going to say I fail to see how you ever got a rep for being a playboy.” She brushed an invisible stray hair from her face. He didn’t reply.
She shivered inwardly, and not from the icy wind that cut through her. His face was as hard as granite and as cold as the ice and snow that graced the mountain they had previously raced down. His gaze bored into hers, her whole body tightening at the realization she had hit a nerve. Jack Harper was not the man of brick and stone he liked to pretend he was.
“How much experience have you had with playboys, CJ?” he whispered, making the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She was glad she was sitting down; from the jellylike feeling in her legs, she knew they wouldn’t be able to hold her if she weren’t.
“I ... um ... a lady doesn’t talk about such things.” Well, that was what her mother always used to say.
“I know plenty of so-called ladies who would brag about such things. But what about you, straight-up, truthful CJ?”
She prayed he couldn’t read minds, especially not with the images of experiencing his playboy ways that were going through hers. She looked away, feigning a sudden interest in the state of her skis, only to find a soft gloved hand under her chin raising it up and bringing it around to face him.
There was no way out. She felt trapped once again with him. Trapped in something not of her own making. She opened her mouth, words of denial ready to pour from her lips, but only a whispered gush of breath escaped. The soft scents of ice and mint that were pure him made all rational thoughts fly out of her head.
“We have company.”
Pulling her eyes open at the harshness in his voice, she felt her stomach plummet as he pulled away to stare at the small group in black on the balcony, their cameras and long lenses at the ready.
“That can’t be for us. There must be much bigger, interesting celebrities here.” Inhaling deeply, she jerked her head away from the soft glove under it, perturbed to find Jack’s black ski-suit covered sleeve raised above her head and placed securely behind her back.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was panicked through gritted teeth, but she was careful to keep her smile wide. She knew those lenses could photograph an insect clearly from a distance, let alone two fully grown adults on a ski lift.
“Are you calling me boring?” he teased, his smile also wide, the dimples on display for all the world’s press to see.
“Wait a sec. Did you set this up?” She turned to him, annoyed to find she was forc
ed to shuffle nearer as his arm tightened about her shoulders, bringing her closer. Heat radiated from him despite the puffiness of both of their suits, and she sent a gust of air upward with her lips in a vain attempt to cool her forehead, only succeeding in blowing a strand of hair over her eyes.
“No, I didn’t, but why waste a perfect opportunity? After all, what better way for your listeners to see you taking your own advice. Practice what you preach, CJ.” His voice was like warm caramel, and she clutched tightly at her skis as he secured his own between his legs then reached his gloved hand up to push the hair out of her face.
“I’ve thought of a reply to your earlier question.” She was relieved when his hand moved away, her body humming from the one still at her back.
“Go on.”
“I don’t need to know playboys to know not to get involved.”
“If you don’t know, then how can you ...”
“I think they’re taking pictures.” She cut across him, squinting against the bright sunlight as the lift stopped at the top where metal barriers were erected to let the skiers off with ease while simultaneously holding back the onlookers—and, thankfully for her, the paps as well.
Unclipping herself, she bounced off, the thick snow crunching beneath her feet. She was away from him so, where was the elatedness she was supposed to feel? And more importantly, why did her back still tingle and her legs feel like liquefied jelly?
“Mystery only adds fuel to their make-believe fire. You know that, don’t you?”
His whispered question next to her ear gave her a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.
“Won’t that just add to our cause?”
“Our cause? You’re a fast learner, CJ.”
“Merci, but I thought we were on a skiing date for two, not twenty.”
“We are, and as your date, I am here to cater to your every need.” His voice dropped suggestively, tauntingly. He was playing with her for the sake of the paps. Now she could see where he acquired his playboy rep.
